Vail felt the same pressure. Billed as the expert in solving this case—the serial killer tracker, the famed profiler who has helped break the most heinous of crimes—she was impotent to provide useful, hard information that would lead to the apprehension of this offender. Making matters worse, she could not get a handle on what she was missing. And she was undoubtedly missing something.
Brix cleared his throat. “I’ve asked Austin Mann and Burt Gordon to stay on with us a bit longer, even though their work on the arson is largely done. We can use the manpower, and I’d rather not bring in fresh bodies that have to get up to speed. Hopefully we’re closer to catching this UNSUB than we think.” He extended his right arm and indicated the visitor. She rose from her chair and walked to Brix’s side.
“This is Amanda Sinclair from AirCom Consulting. Amanda’s here to explain text messaging, and give us a handle on how we can track, and hopefully apprehend, the UNSUB next time he contacts Karen.” He moved toward his seat. “Amanda.”
The woman, early thirties with frosted brown hair, took the center stage. “I know you’ve all used text messaging, or what we in the industry call SMS, or Short Messaging System. We don’t think much about those little notes we send each other. But they can be useful in law enforcement if we know how to use them. And if the criminal doesn’t. I think it’s important for you to know what we can’t do, as well as what we can do.
“So here’s the crash course. And I’m leaving a lot out, so if you’ve got a question, don’t be afraid to ask.” She opened a file and set out some papers. “The texts that go through a wireless provider’s system are not viewed by the carrier. They don’t read them—they simply store the technical transmission information for varying periods of time. Very few carriers actually store the ‘text’ of text messages. The storage space required, multiplied by the billions of texts exchanged between users, is staggering.”
“How long do they keep this transmission information?” Lugo asked.
“Good question. The answer depends on the carrier. Basically, there are several different systems for storing message information. The two most common are CDR and SMS Center. In CDR, or Call Delivery Records, the information is stored for seven days. These CDRs list information such as the time stamp—year, month, day, hour, minute, second, character length—and a variety of other technical info. The International Mobile Subscriber Identity, or IMSI, is also stored; it’s like a thumbprint for the SIM card that houses all the phone’s user specific information. You all know what a SIM card is, right? It’s a little flash memory chip that fits into certain phones. You pull the card out of your old phone, slip it into a new one, and you’re ready to go, without having to reenter all your contacts and such. With me so far?”
“Go on,” Brix said.
“We also store the IMEI, or International Mobile Equipment Identity, a unique thumbprint for the exact phone equipment that’s used. But it’s got no permanent relationship to the individual subscriber. It’s mainly used to identify valid users of the network, so if the phone is stolen, the carrier can shut off that IMEI and the phone will be a useless hunk of metal and plastic.
“The other commonly used system is the SMS Center, which is the E.164 address that lets everyone know which carrier the SMS is originating from or terminating to, the phone number the message is being sent to, how the digits were dialed, and so on. Here’s an example.” She moved to the overhead projector, set one of her pages on top, and turned it on. A document that resembled an Excel spreadsheet was displayed. A bar at the top read, SMS Center Log Window.
Everyone studied the screen. Vail and Lugo were taking notes as Amanda oriented the task force members as to what they were seeing.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“You said there are other ways of storing messages,” Lugo said.
“Yes. Another common method is called SMSC, or Short Message Service Center. It shows where the messages originate and terminate from a carrier’s system. This info is kept for a period of time based on message capacity. Sometimes, if there’s a lot of messages, they’ll only have the data for a week. Other times they may be able to go back a month.”
Amanda slipped a different page onto the projector, showing a gray table with eleven columns aligned horizontally across the document. “The SMSC printout shows the millisecond messages are submitted from the handset and delivered out of the SMSC to the other carrier. It also shows the destination phone number. Now, it gets more complicated, because some carriers have third party vendors that send their intercarrier traffic for them.”
Agbayani pointed at the screen. “Can we use this to determine the location of a perp who’s transmitting a text message in real time?”
“Yes. If the carrier uses GSM technology, you can triangulate within a seven-to twenty-mile radius.”
“Miles?” Lugo tossed down his pen. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“Point is,” Brix said, “we can determine the type of phone used and where he may’ve bought it.”
“That might give us an idea as to where he lives or works,” Lugo said. “But what do we do, watch weeks of surveillance tapes—if the store even has security cameras? We don’t even know who we’re looking for.” He looked around at everyone in the room. “This ain’t gonna help.”
Gordon rocked forward in his seat. “I think we should plot the messages the asshole’s already sent to Vail and set it up so we’re monitoring her cell in real time. If and when this scumbag texts her again, we can at least triangulate on him.” He spread his thick hands. “Better than nothing.”
Amanda said, “Not to make things more difficult for you, but one thing you should be aware of is that the texts sent to Agent Vail’s phone were from different disposable, pre-paid phones.”
Mann slowly shook his head. “I think Ray’s right. Waste of time.”
Brix sighed. “Look, we do what we’ve gotta do. We use the tools available to us. Anyone got a better idea, now’s the time.”
Everyone looked at one another.
Dixon thanked Amanda for her assistance and dismissed her. She then recapped the information she and Vail had learned from Crystal Dahlia, Ian Wirth, and Robert Friedberg. “Karen’s still got a problem with the motive because it just doesn’t fit with how serial killers operate, their whole psychological makeup, and why they do what they do. But I think we should follow the course, see what we turn up.”
“We’re always learning and seeing new things,” Vail said. “So this offender could be a new breed, or just something we haven’t seen before. Right now, I wouldn’t discount anything. I wish I could offer more, but I’ve had a hard time putting it all together.”
“Let’s have you guys stay on it, dig deeper into the AVA board and its players,” Dixon said. “Karen and I have a follow-on appointment in half an hour with the attorney. We’ll keep you posted.”
Brix opened his notepad and flipped pages. “Last order of business. I’ve got something from the Special Investigations Bureau on the prosthesis request Karen had.” He shot a glance at Mann, then Vail, and continued: “This is preliminary stuff, but there were a total of a hundred-fifty-seven males with upper limb prosthetics. Only eleven in the age range Karen specified. Two were alibied, three were out of town and unreachable and the other six are being interviewed, or are scheduled to be interviewed. Just going by their sheets and backgrounds, it doesn’t look promising. But I told NSIB to ride it out. Questions?”
No one spoke.
“Okay, then. Keep at it. You find anything, let us all know.”
FORTY-FIVE
As Vail and Dixon descended the stairs of the sheriff’s department, Marc Benezra’s secretary phoned Dixon and moved their meeting to the nearby Artesa Winery, ten minutes down the road off Highway 12.
“You’re in for a real treat,” Dixon said. “Artesa has one of the more picturesque views of the valley. And judging by the weather and rainfall we had last month, you’re going to get an eyeful.”
>
Dixon took Highway 121, then turned left onto 12.
“Isn’t this the same way we went to Sonoma?”
“It is. But not nearly as far. We’re gonna turn off 12 in a few minutes, into the Carneros Region. Carneros is known for its Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. But Artesa is one of my favorite places to take guests when they come to visit. It’s like an art museum rolled into a winery.”
Dixon drove up the curving driveway and parked in the visitor’s lot. “We’re early. Let me take you the long way around, show you the view.”
As they walked along the path from the car, they came to a large circular pond with a fountain shaped like a short martini glass. Water cascaded over the edges and landed in the surrounding pool. Large, glistening, silver railroad-spike-shaped sculptures stood erect along its periphery.
“What are those things sticking up?” Vail asked.
“Hell if I know. They’re cool looking, that’s for sure.”
Beyond, the vineyard-blanketed rolling hills stretched for miles in all directions.
“Carneros,” Dixon said, holding a hand against her forehead to shield the sun. “And the Napa Valley. Off in the distance is San Francisco.”
Vail followed suit and brought up a hand as if ready to salute. “Stunning.”
Dixon tapped her on the shoulder. “The view gets better as we go up.” She led Vail up the four flights of cement stairs, which featured a trickling waterfall along its centermost rim. At the crest of the top step was a short landing and another flight of stairs. But just ahead was a cement bridge that featured an expansive pool on both sides, with water jets that shot bursts of narrow water streams at a 45 degree angle.
“Impressive,” Vail said, slowing to watch the water arc through the air.
In front of them was the winery—and their appointment with Marc Benezra. The building was completely enveloped by clumps of wild grasses, save for the glass-walled entrance and a large V-shaped windowed bay jutting out by the left side of the mound.
They walked through the doors and found a richly appointed wood entry with freestanding metal and blown-glass artwork. They moved past the gift shop into the tasting room, an irregularly shaped area sporting smooth columns and floor-to-ceiling windows. Seated at one of the small tables on the far side of the room was a dark-suited man. He rose and buttoned his coat.
They approached and introduced themselves. Benezra was a shade over six two, with horn-rimmed glasses and a sharp-featured face that was all business. “Thanks for switching our meeting place,” he said. “One of the employees here is a client I’m meeting at ten thirty, so this gave us more time to chat.”
Vail took a seat in one of the ultramodern wood and metal chairs. “No big deal. This is my first time here, and if we hadn’t met here, I probably wouldn’t have gotten the chance to see it.”
Benezra took his seat. “Quite the treat, isn’t it?”
Vail looked behind Benezra at the wall of glass and the view beyond.
“We’ve got some questions,” Dixon said. “About Isaac Jenkins and the lawsuit he and Victoria Cameron were discussing with you.”
Benezra’s face widened into a smile. “You must know I can’t talk about that without my client present.”
Dixon nodded, as if she agreed. But then she said, “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your clients are dead.”
Benezra’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly. “When? How?”
“Very recently. As to how . . . we can’t say just yet. But their deaths are being kept quiet. For now. I’m going to have to ask you to respect that.”
Benezra’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s—” He stopped, revelation relaxing his facial muscles.
Vail nodded slowly. He had just put it together. Cops coming around to ask about two clients who are suddenly dead. She figured he had realized there were suspicious circumstances surrounding their deaths. And he’d be right.
“So,” Vail said, “I’d strongly suggest you help us. That’s all I can say.” Benezra still looked stunned by the news. “I still can’t discuss anything to do with Isaac’s business. Does Todd know?” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and removed his phone.
Dixon placed a hand on Benezra’s. “You can’t discuss this with Mr. Nicholson.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Dixon. Remove your hand.”
Dixon kept it there. “This is a very serious matter, Mr. Benezra. Lives are at stake. This is much larger than your deceased clients.”
Benezra sucked on the inside of his cheek, then nodded and dropped the phone back in his pocket. “I’m listening.”
“Actually,” Vail said, “we need to listen and you need to talk—”
“Agent Vail, I told you. I can’t—”
“Let’s do it another way. We’re going to tell you some things and you’re going to nod or shake your head. Don’t say a word.”
Benezra looked away. “This just isn’t right.”
“If I told you your life was in danger, would that change your attitude?”
The attorney’s head whipped back to Vail. They locked eyes. “Are you saying—”
“We need to be asking the questions. First one. You were discussing a lawsuit to remove Crystal Dahlia from the Georges Valley board.”
Benezra sat there a long moment, then nodded.
Vail continued. “You’d also been working with Victoria Cameron on the same issue.”
Benezra’s eyes wandered the room.
Vail rephrased: “You had some discussions with Victoria about this.”
Nod.
“Okay,” she said. “Did Victoria or Isaac say anything that might’ve led you to think they feared for their lives?”
Benezra shook his head.
“Were there any concerns about Superior Mobile Bottling, that maybe they were doing something illegal?”
Another shake.
Vail sighed and looked at Dixon. “Anything you want to ask?”
Benezra leaned forward. “Agent Vail, you’re in the wrong forest. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I do. But I really need you to talk. We need to know what you know. I respect your legal responsibilities. But we’re up against the wall here. We’re trying to save lives. I promise you we won’t disclose where we got this info. We’re not interested in building a case against a suspect. We’re just trying to catch a—a very dangerous person. Before someone else gets hurt. But we just need some answers. Tell us what you know.”
Benezra sat back, then rubbed his face with both hands. A moment later, he said, “Let’s go outside, take a little walk.”
They rose from their chairs and pushed through the nearby glass door, which spilled out onto a long patio with multiple round aluminum tables and matching seats. The vista was clear and the hills rolled on for miles into the distance. A small, blue body of water was visible less than a mile way.
Benezra walked a dozen feet, then stopped and leaned his forearms atop the metal railing. Dixon and Vail did likewise. “I’m not telling you this. Right?”
“Right,” Dixon said.
Benezra nodded slowly, then said, “Isaac and Victoria were very upset because of the AVA issue. You know about it?”
“The 85 percent minimum?” Vail asked.
“Apparently, someone from Congressman Church’s office was involved. He was speaking in favor of the other members of the AVA board, trying to influence the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax Trade Bureau. The TTB. Familiar with it?”
“Yeah, it’s come up before.”
“Well, it was improper, to say the least, for the congressman’s office to take sides. It had nothing to do, really, with his district. No reason for him to come down on either side of the issue unless he was politically motivated to do so.”
Vail felt a pang of disappointment. While there could be the seeds of something underhanded—or merely politics as usual—it wasn’t the smoking gun for which they were hoping.
“Interesting,” Dixon said.
But Vail sensed the same emotion in Dixon’s voice that she was feeling herself. Interesting, but not relevant.
“No,” Benezra said. “What’s interesting is what my PI found out. I hired an investigator to look into it. It just smelled foul. I mean, yeah, could’ve just been political horse-trading, but Victoria and Isaac were convinced something wasn’t right. And what my guy discovered was worse than what they’d envisioned.” He stopped, ran a hand across his forehead. “If I tell you what we found, everyone will know it came from me. I really can’t—I need to talk with Todd.”
Dixon pushed away from the railing. “Call him. Keep it short. Just tell him I’m investigating something regarding one of the congressman’s advisors and I’m offering to exchange some information that you think’ll be beneficial to your efforts. That’s all true.”
Benezra dug out his phone. He dialed, spoke with Nicholson, and did as Dixon instructed. He slid the phone back in his jacket. “He trusts me to do the right thing. Am I doing the right thing, Ms. Dixon?”
Dixon locked eyes with Benezra. “If you only knew.”
Benezra sighed deeply. “My PI found payoffs to Timothy Nance, Church’s District Director, in a private account. Two payments of twenty-five grand apiece. We think they came from Crystal Dahlia, which would make sense, but we’re not sure. And it seems the fifty grand was shipped out of the account a couple days later.”
“To where?”
“Don’t know. My PI hasn’t finished digging. It’s . . . sensitive work. We have to be very careful. But it looks like Nance was taking a bribe to influence government legislation regarding the minimum grape requirement for the AVA.”
Vail held up a hand. “Hang on a second. I’m not sure we can reach that conclusion. Those are pretty serious charges. Taking bribes, influence peddling. Corruption, graft.”
Benezra looked away. “Congressman Church is close friends with the director of the Regulations and Ruling Division of the TTB. And they administer AVA designations. Does that change your opinion?”
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